


can i go where you go

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Sexual Situations, Caught, Don’t copy to another site, Drabble, Established Relationship, Everyone lives, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: King Robert never comes North; Theon and Sansa meet in secret at Winterfell's godswood.





	can i go where you go

**Author's Note:**

> So I can't stop writing lately but this drabble was requested by an anon over tumblr! Thanks for the idea! The song title is also taken from Taylor Swift's Lover which I cannot stop listening to tbh.

Her back hit the bark of the weirwood as snow crunched underneath her suddenly clumsy feet, too distracted by the warm lips pressed against hers to care much about the state of her slippers anymore. A warm body swiftly covered hers, surging forward to push them both against the hard surface of the tree as their lips connected once more, hungry and practiced.

The kiss was as fervent and wild as it always was when they would meet like this, especially after exchanging looks throughout the entirety of breaking their fast.

It seemed that teasing one another had become a game they played; a game of passion and lust and wanting that never seemed to end even when they were alone.

This affair was reckless and possibly the most ill-advised decision that Sansa had made in her life, but she couldn’t let the sweetness of a secret dalliance pass her by so soon after tasting it.

Sansa grinned against Theon’s eager lips, recalling his whispered promise to warm her up just a half-hour earlier in the Great Hall when it had been announced by her father that winter was almost at its end, and tangled her fingers through his hair, curly and peppered with snowflakes.

Her lips parted under Theon’s persuasive tongue and she just barely stifled a moan as his hand roamed over her breast, squeezing it lightly as the kiss deepened into something all-consuming.

This wasn’t the first time they were doing this, nor would it be the last.

She never tired of the thrill that came with her clandestine meetings with her family’s ward, whether they were in his chambers or the godswood or a hovel in the winter town, or the wolfswood while her brothers went off on their hunt without sparing a thought for them. They had exchanged kisses and love letters in nearly every corner of Winterfell that was free from prying eyes, and her family’s place of worship would be no exception to that.

Sansa had come here to pray but when Jeyne left her by her lonesome and Theon wandered over from the woods, she found that she couldn’t resist but indulge herself in his touch.

She let out the softest of sighs when he detached their lips to begin working on her neck, biting greedy marks into it that she would have to spend hours concealing before anyone could see her again, least of all her mother. Considering that her handmaidens—anointed by her mother to celebrate Sansa becoming a woman for true— snickered to themselves whenever they caught a glimpse of purple or red on Sansa’s neck, she knew the secret couldn’t be kept forever.

Catelyn Stark would have Theon’s head if she knew what they had been doing in private for the past few weeks, and Gods, she didn’t even want to think about what Father would do to him. Robb would wring Theon’s neck for certain, considering how close they had always been.

Her maidenhead was long gone, taken a week after her latest nameday feast when she mistakenly happened upon Theon right outside the stables.

He was an attractive man, and it helped that he was practically the only boy she knew who wasn’t related to her, so she batted her eyelashes at him and flirted as boldly as she could manage without making herself out to be wanton. She longed for romance and excitement, and he seemed as good a candidate as any to give her that.

It didn’t seem that he cared much about propriety when he knelt beneath her skirts and pleasured her in a way she hadn’t even known _happened_ in the marriage bed, let alone experienced for herself. All she knew of intimacy was what Mother had told her, and the two hurried kisses she had shared with Torrhen Karstark two years prior when he had come to Winterfell to court her, albeit unsuccessfully when their fathers failed to come to an accord about the politics of it all.

Sansa had lost hope in finding a match she would be happy with after King Robert’s children were exposed as bastards by the Hand of the King, nothing quite comparing to her fantasies of becoming the queen to the supposed golden stag she had spent moons on end dreaming of as a child.

Life wasn’t a song, she had come to realize, and she found herself immensely grateful for her father’s hesitance to betroth her, just as he had declined to foster any of his other children elsewhere. She thought that it might have something to do with losing his parents and siblings to duty or death in his youth, but wouldn’t question it so long as she got to stay here with Theon.

She had gone to the stables that night to feed sugar cubes to her favorite mare when she found that she had trouble sleeping, but instead managed to end up writhing underneath Theon Greyjoy on a pile of hay in the stables until well past the hour of the wolf.

Theon had walked her to her chambers afterward, kissing her soundly by the door and declaring that he would take her for a wife if her father allowed it. Neither of them had asked him yet, too frightened that he would put an end to the affair if he denied them. She cared too deeply, loved too truly, to want to be parted from him now, and so she prolonged it as long as she could.

Septa Mordane would clutch at her heart if she knew what wicked things Sansa had been doing out of wedlock, betraying every lesson she had been taught growing up as the prodigal child.

The quiet rebellion of making love to Theon in the shadows made Sansa feel more alive than she had in her life, relishing in every peak he brought her to like it was her very last.

A hand worked its way to her thigh, hitching her leg over his hips to grind against her through their many layers of clothing. “I want to taste you,” he breathed out haggardly as he nuzzled his nose at her neck, his other hand continuing to palm at her breasts through her woolen dress.

She inhaled sharply, arching towards his touch at the words. “Here?”

They were in broad daylight and anyone could stumble upon them if they came to the godswood hoping to find comfort in prayer. He chuckled as he sucked at her skin once more, not bothering to answer her question when he could instead continue to ravish her.

They hadn’t been caught before, but Sansa was not so foolish to think that they were invulnerable to being found out. A part of her longed for it, for her father or brother to catch them together, so that they could be wed without having to worry about something so mundane as his station. She wasn’t so daft that she didn’t see where it could go wrong, though.

Such a scandal could result in one of them being sent away, or in a hastily arranged marriage of Sansa to any one of her father’s bannermen, or worst of all, her lover’s execution for debauching and shaming Ned Stark’s daughter, no matter how wanted it was.

Theon was always so daring and unpredictable that it excited her beyond sense, though, and so she found herself nodding frantically to his request. She sighed when Theon thrust his pelvis against hers again, a smirk on his face that once only gave her cause to distrust him and now brought an ache to her loins that motivated her to do the filthiest of things with him in private.

“Make me yours, Theon,” she breathed out as her hands splayed across Theon’s chest, firm underneath his leather jerkin. She was quite certain that she had never wanted anything so much as she wanted to be touched by him in that moment. “Please.”

“You’re already mine,” he rubbed his nose against hers, the gesture bizarrely sweet in contrast to the way they were rutting up against one another in a sacred place. “And I’m yours, always.”

Just as his fingers dipped beneath her smallclothes, a voice cut through their moment.

“Sansa?”

It was Jeyne, presumably back from the castle out of boredom.

She was a distance away, having just crossed the threshold into the godswood, unaware of what she had interrupted by coming back. Sansa had never loathed the steward’s daughter as much as she did now, her eyes snapping open at the sound of her friend looking for her.

“Fuck,” Theon cursed as he reluctantly wrenched himself away from Sansa, wiping his hand on his breeches as he tried to figure out what approach he should take to the situation at hand.

Neither of them could leave at this point without being spotted, and an escape attempt would only arouse more suspicion than being caught together.

Sansa grabbed Theon by the sleeve and willed him not to make this situation worse for them.

He nodded curtly and pressed a fleeting last kiss to her lips, as if he understood her unspoken request, and reached over to adjust her hair so that it covered the worst of the love bites he had left on her neck.

Her eyes fluttered at the touch, lips parting as she momentarily forgot the issue at hand, before she came to, spun on her feet, and placed a hand on the bark of the tree as if deep in thought.

Theon took two steps backward and crossed his arms over his chest, making a show of rolling his eyes just as Jeyne rounded the corner, her pale gray dress flowing prettily as she rounded the corner of the weirwood. The moments it took her to reach them felt so drawn out that it was unbearable.

“Theon,” Jeyne exclaimed, practically jumping at the sight of the ward standing moodily off to the side of the tree. “Have you seen Lady Sansa? I have urgent need of her counsel.”

“Urgent?” Theon scoffed, his façade of being a complete arse put back into place as it often was around others. “What _wise_ counsel could you need from her? Which sewing needle pricks the gentlest? Which dress to wear to dinner, the grey or the blue? However will you choose?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” the girl turned her nose up at Theon as she always did whenever they crossed paths. “What are _you_ doing here anyhow? You don’t even worship the Old Gods.”

_You don’t belong here_ were the words that lingered beneath her question, and even Sansa could pick out her dismissal of him from where she had been standing.

“Jeyne!” Sansa greeted her friend to give Theon some time to come up with an excuse that would make sense for why the two of them were at the godswood together alone. Lightly scolding her for leaving her alone would deflect suspicion enough for them to get away with this. “Where have you been? I thought you had abandoned me out in the cold for certain.”

A light blush crossed Jeyne’s cheeks. “Lord Snow was just showing me the-”

“Lord Snow?” Theon repeated incredulously. “Since when has he been _Lord Snow_ to you?”

Sansa narrowed her eyes at the sight of her friend, cheeks flushed a rosy pink and lips curved into a seemingly never-ending smile. Jeyne’s brown hair still framed her face prettily but looked a tad messier than it had before she had left Sansa nearly half an hour earlier. The obvious thought struck Sansa as soon as it came, but she brushed it aside. It wasn’t possible.

Jeyne had never even glanced Jon’s way, let alone expressed interest in him.

“I always mind my courtesies, Lord Greyjoy,” Jeyne snapped, a bit more defensive than she typically would be about the issue. “Lord Snow was simply in need of some advice.”

“I’m sure he was,” Theon drawled, gifting Sansa with a pointed look as Jeyne huffed under the sudden scrutiny. As hoped, she seemed to forget all about her earlier worries in favor of rushing over to Sansa, tugging on her hand as if what she wanted to tell her truly was a pressing matter.

Could it be that it actually did have something to do with Jon? Jeyne had hated him once, as did Sansa, but for much different reasons. For Sansa, it had been a foolish grudge she held on behalf of her mother but Jeyne seemed to resent being called out for the childish insults they tossed toward Arya in their youth. They had been stupid girls back then, but still…

It couldn’t be anything like that.

“Sansa,” Jeyne’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “Let’s speak alone?”

At this point, she couldn’t imagine what her friend’s cause for concern could be, but had all but given up on the dream of getting to spend any uninterrupted time alone with Theon; all she could be grateful for was that they weren’t in a more incriminating position when Jeyne returned to the godswood.

Sansa allowed herself to be pulled forward without giving her head the time to catch up to what was suddenly happening, exhaling sharply as her snow-covered foot caught on a small rock in front her. Jeyne turned to catch her friend before she fell, arms extending immediately for her.

“Gods!” The brunette gasped as she helped Sansa into a standing position, opening her mouth to say something that was probably along the lines of ‘watch your step’ when she paused, brows drawn together as if she was attempting to understand the maps of the North that had been shown to them as girls. It was a lesson neither of them had never quite grasped, especially when it came to the smaller regions in the country. “What’s that?”

She was staring at Sansa’s neck, exposed now that her hair had escaped its careful placement from earlier. Panic welled up within Sansa at the vivid memory from moments earlier, of Theon mouthing at her neck hungrily. Seconds passed as Sansa thought of an answer, and her silence only made matters worse as Jeyne cocked her head, beginning to connect the dots for herself.

“I burned myself,” Sansa responded airily without thinking any of what she was saying through.

It wasn’t dark enough for any candles or braziers to be lit, let alone in the middle of the godswood. Gods, was that the first thing that had popped into her head?

She thought she heard Theon snicker from a few feet away but didn’t dare turn to look at him.

“You burned yourself,” Jeyne repeated incredulously, eyes poring over the spots on her neck judgmentally. Her gaze slid over to Theon with disbelief, recognition dawning in her eyes, and Sansa could feel her stomach rolling inside of her, her insides growing cold at the stupid oversight. “Eight times?”

“Yes,” Sansa responded confidently.

“And you expect me to believe that?” Jeyne affirmed with her brows raised to the skies.

“Yes,” she gulped as she distractedly smoothed out her dress further, having what felt like an out of body experience as her friend deduced what had been happening just moments ago; what they had almost escaped without her knowing. “And because I know that you are loyal to me, as my best friend and closest companion, I can trust that you won’t tell anyone about how I’ve… burned myself. Isn’t that right?”

Jeyne seemed to be having an existential crisis of her own as her wide eyes swiveled over to where Theon was standing, kicking at the snow beside the tree with his boots. “Right.”

“And you’ll leave me to my prayers for another half hour?” Sansa chanced, averting her eyes from her before returning them, emboldened by the assurance that her friend wouldn’t say anything to anyone about this if she valued their lifelong friendship even the slightest bit.

“Of course,” Jeyne curtseyed for her, polite to a fault though Sansa knew that she would be swamped with questions as soon as she got her alone in a few hours. “Lady Sansa.”

Within moments, they were alone once more.

Sansa remained frozen in place, her mind still wrapping itself around the events that had just transpired; of getting caught in the act for the first time by someone who might or might not keep it to herself. Her palms were sweaty all of a sudden, and her heart was thumping mercilessly.

A familiar set of arms wrapped around her from behind as she pondered all the ways that this could come back to haunt them, warm and comforting, though the press of hardness against her backside gave a very conflicting message. 

“So…” Theon started, his breath ghosting over the shell of her ear. “Shall we get started on those prayers of yours then, Lady Sansa?”

She released a shuddering breath at that, her lips curving into a slow smile as he spoke. Twisting in his arms, Sansa captured his lips sweetly with her own, unable to resist but kiss him again and again, and then once more after that. "I suppose we must."

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at targaryenstyrell on tumblr!


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